


Wolfcraft

by DenizenGarden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Arithmancy (Harry Potter), Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Hags, Look it Up, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pictish Magic, Picts, Runes, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), Werewolves, Witchcraft, Witches, Woad as a color, Wolf Cubs Under the Bed, crones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenizenGarden/pseuds/DenizenGarden
Summary: When Remus, who has perfected the image he shows others, loses control over his reality, Sirius, who searches for love and struggles to find someone who understands him, must break down Remus’s barriers and help him confront his trust issues. Don’t talk to strangers you meet in the Forbidden Forest.





	Wolfcraft

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is my first uploaded story. Reviews are appreciated. Let's see where this goes. Eventually, I will catch up with all my tags. :-)

Chapter 1 - The Hagstone

 

Sirius, who would rather have been in bed, examined the odd object James had found, squinting in the early morning light of the common room. James sat sprawled on the red upholstered couch, dressed for the day and twirling his wand idly in one hand. He observed his shirtless, pajama-trouser-clad friend leaning over the object that lay on the worktable with a smirk.

“What do you make of it, Padfoot? Our Moony’s been keeping secrets from us. Again.”

Sirius glanced up, grey eyes wary under knitted brows. “I reckon it’s an Ancient Runes project.”

“I could see how you’d think that, Pads, but hearing Remus talk about Professor Ogham, I doubt that assignments run in a practical vein. Just rolls and rolls of essays and translation work. No, this thing,” he gestured at the bit of stone, string, and wood before them, “clearly has some other purpose. You should try smelling it. That’s how I found it in the first place.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward quizzically. “Jamie, are you telling me you spend your free time sniffing through Moony’s things? That’s a bit dodgy, mate.”

James rolled his eyes. “You’ll see what I mean when you smell it,” he said, chopping his hand to emphasize the last two words.

Sirius tentatively leaned over the mysterious object again, and with one more questioning look at James, took a big whiff. And immediately gagged.

“Ugh! UGH! What is that smell?” he gasped, jerking backwards from the offending item and putting some distance between himself and the table.

 James snorted a laugh, and then grew serious again. He sat up and leaned forward. “I’ve never smelled anything quite like it before. It’s wolfish, but there’s something else. It’s not dark magic, exactly, but it’s not—” he flailed his hands about in the air, searching for the words to describe the foreboding sense of _otherness_ he got from the odor, “—human smelling, is it?”

“No, Prongs, it isn’t. But neither are _you_ , you lumbering deer _.”_ Sirius abruptly bounced on the couch and smacked James round the head before James could dodge. He retaliated by mussing up Sirius’s carefully crafted man-bun and smirking at Sirius’s very unmanly shriek.

“You vain git. You forget that my nose,” James tapped his nose smugly, “has 297 million olfactory receptors in it, about 60 million more than your pitiful snout. I can smell just how rank your doggy arse is from over here.”

Sirius was—vainly—trying to smooth his hair back into a bun, whilst holding his hair tie in his mouth. He rolled his eyes, likely tired of hearing James brag about just how much more sensitive a stag’s nose was compared to a dog’s. Once his hair was tied back to his satisfaction, he sat cross-legged on the couch and cautiously slid the object closer to them on the table. He sniffed it again in a very canine way, before turning it over and examining the other side. 

The object was made up of a 17 centimeter long cord with a loop at one end and a stone with a hole in it at the other end. All along the cord where little wooden rings with runes incised in them. The cord itself seemed to be woven out of dark hemp or…

“James, is this _hair_?” Sirius croaked, snatching his hands away from it.

James snorted again. “I’d say so. Just what could Remus be doing with it, I wonder?”

“What indeed,” said a voice from the stairwell.

Both animagi jumped up from the couch as Remus appeared on the stairs, and while Sirius looked guilty, James looked appraising.

The look on Remus’s face was one of betrayal. He quickly strode over to the table and snatched up the pilfered object and stuffed it into the pocket of his green pajama shirt. Remus patted the front of the pocket and let his hand remain there as he looked from James to Sirius, a dismayed expression pulling down the corners of his mouth.

“James,” he said in a low, wrathful tone, “there is such a thing as privacy, even in a dorm room. It’s not okay that you went through my trunk—while I was _sleeping_. And you,” Remus turned to Sirius, dropping his voice from quietly wrathful to just quiet, “you of all people should know how uncomfortable it is when someone intrudes into your personal business.”

With that, Remus turned on his heel and stormed back up the stairs. James and Sirius eyed each other silently. Both had noticed the tremor in Remus’s voice, how his faint Welsh accent had been a bit more pronounced. Finally, James spoke up.

“Well, that got us nowhere. I didn’t even have time to write down the runes.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes in frustration, then abruptly demanded, “Just what did he mean by ‘someone intruding into your personal business’?”

“He, uh, followed me once. After dark. And saw me with someone. And it was uncomfortable.”

“Followed you? What, like _stalked_ you?” James smirked, then frowned as Sirius avoided his eyes. “Why?” he asked, candidly.

“He was on prefect rounds, and followed me for a laugh. But things got…embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing how? Who’d he see you with?”

“None of your business! Honestly, James, just leave it. Insufferable meddler. You don’t know when to quit.” All this was said as Sirius turned and stomped to the stairway himself, throwing his hands up in aggravation. James watched his retreating back, eyebrows raised, then shouted up the stairs.

“You know, we didn’t used to keep all these secrets from each other! What happened to the Marauder’s code?”

A door slammed somewhere high above him. James turned back to the common room and carded his hair with both hands.

“Well,” he said to himself, “I’ll just nip to the library then. Secrets were made to be known.”

  

* * *

  

When Remus reached the privacy of his four-poster, he immediately cast an imperturbable charm on his closed bed curtains. He tossed his wand on his pillow and pulled the hagstone out of his front pocket. His hands were shaking. Remus smoothed his thumb over the holed stone, and wound the cord around his palm. For one horrible moment, he thought he had lost it, that it was gone for good. Remus held back a panicked sob threatening to leave his throat and pressed the hagstone to his forehead. He knew what he had to do. Remus would go to the forest and beg Beira to make the hagstone’s protection stronger. He knew he could handle it.

With that, he wrapped the cord around his ankle and fastened the hagstone through the loop. Remus dropped the cuff of his pajama trousers over it and made to open the curtains. He paused when he heard footsteps pounding up the stairway. Sirius charged into the room, flung the door shut, and stood in the center of the circle of beds, breathing hard.

“Bloody hell, what’s all that racket?” came a sleepy voice from Peter’s bed.

“Nothing, shut up,” Sirius soothed, “go back to sleep Wormtail.”

As Peter mumbled and turned over, Remus covertly peeked through a gap in his curtains at the end of his bed. Sirius had his head down, face covered now by flyaway hair from his bun, and his chest was rising and falling like he had just flown ten laps around the quidditch pitch. Sirius unexpectedly cast a furtive glance at Remus’s closed bed curtains and Remus scrambled back as though Sirius could see him. After a moment’s pause, Sirius walked over to Remus’s drawn curtains and made knocking motions at the edges of the charm preventing actual contact with the fabric.

Remus took a deep breath, glanced down to make sure his trouser cuff was still concealing the hagstone, and retrieved his wand from his pillow, dissolving his charm as he did so. He twitched the curtains open and, from his kneeling position on the bed, gave the waiting Sirius an evaluating look.

“Come to be nosy? Or can you lot just let me have some secrets to myself?" 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said immediately, “It was James’s idea, he pulled me out of bed this morning without telling me why and dragged me down to the common room to show me…to show me it.” He looked remorseful, still standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his chest and hands gripping his upper arms. Remus narrowed his eyes.

“Promise you had nothing to do with James’s prattish behavior? And we can forget this happened?”

“Sure.” Sirius shrugged his shoulders casually and examined the ceiling.

“Fine.”

“Look,” Sirius said, unclasping his arms and sitting sideways on the bed, looking over his shoulder at Remus, “Moony, are we all right? Not just with this, but about everything?” He gestured vaguely with his fingers. “I…we haven’t talked since…that night…and I—”

“Your secret is not mine to tell. It’s not my business whose pants you’ve got your hand in.” Remus’s face flushed red after he realized what he said, the deep scars on his nose, under his left eye, and across his left eyebrow standing out white in sharp relief. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t know you took that much notice what I was up to, Remus. Figured I’d seared your retinas with just the fact of _kissing_ someone in front of you. Prude.”

Remus gave him a faraway look, a smile ghosting on his lips. “Go take a shower, you oaf. You smell rank.”

“Alright,” Sirius rolled his eyes, sensing his dismissal, “Honestly, between you and James, it’s a wonder I have any confidence in my manly musk at all.”

As Sirius wandered into the bathroom, throwing a towel over his shoulder, and Peter snored quietly in his bed, Remus checked his wristwatch. It was only 7:30 in the morning, a good time to be on the move.

  

* * *

  

As soon as he was able, Remus snuck out of the common room with his rucksack, wearing his brown denim trousers, sturdy walking boots, and green plaid coat. He made a beeline straight to the one-eyed witch passageway and quickly made his way to Hogsmeade. Remus had to wait until he was sure the proprietors of Honeydukes were occupied with business in the back office before he could leave through the shop, even with the help of a disillusionment charm. He hadn’t the cover of other shopping students because the Hogsmeade weekend trip didn’t start for another two hours.

When the coast was clear, Remus left the shop and walked over a block to the greengrocers. He removed the disillusionment charm and cast an aging charm in its place. He bought hard cheese, butter, flour, salt, evaporated milk, and yeast, which upon leaving the grocers stuffed into his rucksack and lightened it with a charm. Beira would be pleased with her gifts. From there, all he had to do was melt into the forbidden forest behind the shrieking shack.

As he passed the cover of the first trees, he could breathe easier. Remus felt the tension in his shoulders unknotting the deeper into the forest he went. Once he was about a mile in, he removed his socks and boots. Though the autumn was giving way to winter in the early November air, Remus loped over gnarled roots and rotting leaf mulch without discomfort. His wolfish side always took over once he was in the forest—his natural habitat, he thought with amusement. Visiting Beira always meant freedom.

Remus had been running at an easy pace for an hour, going ever deeper into the heart of the woods, when the ancient trees starting giving way to the rocky foothills of the mountains. He slowed to a brisk hike as the ground grew steeper. All around him, pines sprang up amongst the deciduous trees, pine needles replaced leaf mold, and grey rocks made barriers, hidey-holes, and cover from prying eyes. He hadn’t seen much evidence of animal life in the woods, but he never did; though he spelled no danger to them, the animals of the forest shrank from a werewolf’s presence. 

The ground became rockier and steeper as Remus reached the mouth of a gorge. He knew to slow his pace even further as he entered the narrow little valley, picking his way over sharp rocks and brambles. Still Remus did not put on his shoes; he still had no need of them here, but more importantly, Remus left his scent trail for those he knew would be following him shortly. He could smell their tracks too. 

The path narrowed further, the grey rock walls closing in. Every now and again, Remus had to duck outcroppings and weave through twisting crags, still with a slice of daylight high above him. Then, without much notice, the gorge opened up into a bowl-shaped hollow. At the center of the hollow was a circle of standing stones just a head taller then himself. The blueish grey stones were etched with spirals, parallel lines, and cup-shaped grooves. They surrounded the stone block in the center like a coven gathering around a cauldron. Remus walked between the stones and stood at the stone block, examining the indentation in the top and the ashes gathered within it, waiting for Beira. He didn’t have to wait long.

Out of the hidden caves that ringed the hollow came Beira’s children. Three large wolves, as grey as the rock surrounding them, slunk up to meet the werewolf. Winding around him, sniffing his feet, his hands, his clothing, the wolves greeted one whom they viewed as a brother and equal. Remus smiled at them, but did not bend to greet them. His first greeting would be for Beira.

She stepped forth from the center cave, her long grey braids gusting about her as they moved with the wind channeled through the gorge. Clad in a neat short woad-dyed kirtle over a deeper blue pair of breeches, layered with furs and draped with beaded charms and ring-shaped runes, she was beautiful in her age, and as one with the forest as a pine tree. Beira was old, her face tan and crossed with wrinkles and a few scars. Some of her scars were reminiscent of Remus’s own, jagged and puckered. Some, however, were smooth and purposeful, made in ritual. She was smiling at Remus, her teeth white, straight, and a bit sharper than a human’s.

“Remus, love. I’ve longed for you.” Beira’s voice was low and melodic, like wind howling over the mountain. She extended her arms and Remus fell into the embrace, returning it sincerely. He breathed in her calming scent, something of wolf, pine oil, and wood smoke.

“Beira,” was all Remus could manage, his tension finally unraveling all the way as he clung to her.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks. What brings you here, sweetheart?” She murmured this into his hair, petting it, feeling his heartbeat slow. She linked arms with him, guiding him to a rock seat outside the standing stone circle. The wolves followed, tails wagging now as Remus tussled their cheeks and buried his hands in their luxurious scruff. Beira took a seat on a neighboring rock and smiled at the sight of the werewolf nearly knocked over as the three wolves fought to lick his face and head-butt his chest.

“Bhreac, Brochan! Leave the boy alone. Coira, sweet girl.” The wolfish brothers immediately sat with their sister, who had already commenced lounging over Remus’s feet.

“I…” Remus started, “I don’t always need an excuse to come, do I? Sometimes I just need to visit.” Remus threw off his rucksack and stritched behind Coira’s ears, the wolf’s tongue lolling out in happiness.

“No, you can come whenever you like, you’re always welcome, love. But I’m sensing you have a reason for this visit.” Beira nudged Remus’s shoulder with her own. Sighing, Remus reached down and unfastened the hagstone from his ankle. He wordlessly handed it to Beria, who turned it over in her hands, twisting the wooden rings.

“Hmm. Some wizard’s been handling this, pet. Did you not conceal it?” She handed the hagstone back to Remus, who simply gazed at it in his hands, elbows on his knees and head lowered.

“James. He went through my things. He took it from my trunk. I’m not sure what possessed him.”

“It’s a powerful object. A wizard,” she spat, making her opinion of wizardkind clear, “might be sensitive enough to its magic that he could sense it, even through barriers. I didn’t account for that.” 

“Is there any way,” Remus pled, pale green eyes connecting with Beira’s grey, “to conceal it without distorting its intent?” He was despairing, even as he laid his head in her lap. She absentmindedly stroked his head like she would her children.

“Yes, there is. But you might not like the process involved.” Her tone was guarded, she paused stroking his head. Remus sat up and stared at her earnestly, nodding for her to continue.

“We could bond it to your magical signature. It would allow you to wear it without it becoming distracting, like you said it did during classes. The magic of it would work seamlessly around your own magic, the hagstone’s protection might even become stronger. However,” Beira drew a deep breath, “it’s blood magic. It requires sacrifice. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Remus silently watched her for a second. “I thought it was already blood magic. You took my hair, my blood, my sweat, my spit, my—” he trailed off and cleared his throat, “and, well, I’d be more uncomfortable _without_ the hagstone. The wolf is so much calmer with it on. I’m able to focus and control it so much better. I’ve been doing better in potions, too. My wolfy nose doesn’t get in the way and make my projects go haywire.”

“I’m glad it helps you so much. That was the idea.” Beira smiled and cupped his face. “My poor Remus, living among the humans.” Her voice was gentle, he leaned into her touch. The wolves lay panting at their feet.

“You shouldn’t have to try to hide who you are, _what_ you are. It could be like this,” she gestured to the silent forest, the softly swaying trees, the contented wolves, “it could be like this always. We’d make room for you. You could learn so much from me.”

She smiled sadly as he quietly pulled back from her touch. He avoided her gaze, and changed the subject.

“If I didn’t live with humans, I couldn’t bring you gifts!” Remus said cheerfully, smile not quite reaching his eyes, as he pulled the groceries from his rucksack. Beira’s eyes brightened at her presents and she laughed like a child. 

 


End file.
